


Zetsubou

by ImaKaraTabiHe



Category: Justice League - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Despair, Hope vs. Despair, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Violence, Loneliness, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaKaraTabiHe/pseuds/ImaKaraTabiHe
Summary: Zetsubou.  Despair.  When you're all alone in the world, you either go mad or fall into despair.





	Zetsubou

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all~ Sorry to say that I'm not updating my other works (but I will... sometime soon, I hope - if work doesn't kill me).
> 
> I just had this image and... I couldn't not write it, so here it is. It's very sad, so.. maybe not a good idea to read it if you're looking for something cheery. (Who am I kidding? It's definitely not a good idea.)
> 
> Anyways... My best to all of you.

It's sad to think it's surreal, but somehow it is. The scent of smoke almost covers that of decay and iron – almost. The sunset is red with clouds streaking through the fiery colors. It's beautiful, he can't help but admit to himself.

His hand brushes the rock, sweeping dust into the air as a breeze passes by. It rustles his hair, threading through his red locks and makes him remember a time long passed. It was a time when boulder he sits upon was once part of a mountain that housed some of his most treasured memories and his most bitter regrets.

Yet, it's beautiful – the sunset. The wind feels cool upon his skin, a sign of the changing seasons. He wonders if it will snow and if it will snow a lot or a little. He wonders if it'll be pure enough to make snow cream like the man smiling in his memory used to make.

A bird cries overhead as it swoops down towards the ground, settling on a cloaked figure. Its head cocks to the side before it leans down and tugs at the dark head of hair that has dirt matted into it.

The bird tugs, pulling out little strands of hair, yet it doesn't seem to satisfy it as it huffs, letting the hair be picked up in the wind. It gives another cry and flaps its wings to stretch.

“Hello there,” his voice softly slips from his lips. It's been too long since he's heard his own voice. He hardly even recognizes it.  
The bird stares at him with its black eyes, cocking its head once more.

It's an instinctual movement, as he holds his arm out, hand outstretched with delicate motion. He doesn't know why he does it, only that he does.  
Yet for some reason, the bird gives a shrill whistle and then lifts itself into the air before landing on his forearm. He doesn't feel the sharp talons dig into his skin, can't smell the blood over the other scents in the air. “Aren't you a friendly fellow.”

He lifts his other hand and finds himself stroking the bird's cheek, fingertips dancing along the black feathers. “Would you like to? Be my friend, that is.”  
Its oddly comforting and feels all too human when the bird leans into his fingers with a soft trill. He smiles, an odd, out of practice smile. “It's been a long time since I've hand a friend...” he muses.

A strong wind races over them, kicking up dust and debris and making the bird squeak in annoyance. He chuckles with a sliver of amusement, following a leaf with his eyes as it dances in the air and shimmers in the light of the setting Sun.

“It's beautiful, don't you think?” he questions as he sits upon the boulder, high above the devastation and rotting corpses below. “It's beautiful...” he whispers once more as his heart echoes with something familiar.. something he once knew. But it's too forgotten to remember, too much of a void for anything to come out of it.

All he knows is that, despite the stench of death, the sunset remains as beautiful as it has always been, _now and then._


End file.
